Just Believe
by cornishxxxpixie
Summary: After Sylvia's death, the boys try to move on whilst James needs a new play. Emma is difficult and a woman by the name of Odette seems to find her way into Mr. Barrie's life more than the playwright would like.
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE

James sat on the park bench cradling Peter in his arms. The child buried his tear-streaked face into his guardians suited chest as he cried. Each tear that fell, fell with the memory of his mother. But, it seemed the sadness would never end. It seemed his mothers death, as much as Peter wished it not to, would continue to haunt him for eternity until he himself reached his own tragic demise. It seemed that all the imaginary worlds and characters in the universe could never take his young mind of the events that had occurred since James had blessed their lives.

Mr. Barrie had come into their lives only some months ago whilst walking his dog in the park. As unimpressed as he was at the first sight of Porthos the bear, Peter had acquired an astounding and powerful affection to the man and his dog. Until that fateful day when Peter and his brothers had put on a show in the playhouse as a surprise for James, within a few moments of the play commencing, his dear mother had been overcome by a violent cough. James had ushered Sylvia into the cottage where she would lie down and have a cup of soothing chamomile tea.

Peter, overcome by sadness, had run out of the cottage and into the small playhouse and proceeded to destroy the set they had spent hours creating. The child had viciously torn the pages out of his leather-bound book in front of James, proclaiming that he was not his father and that he had been more of a hindrance than a help to his family. He was sick of James and his mother lying to him about Sylvia's condition, dismissing it as a_ "silly chest cold"_.

But now, here he was taking comfort and solace in the very man that had supposedly ruined their lives. And now he would possibly spend the rest of his life with the playwright who had loved his mother as much as Peter himself had.

It seemed as if the two males had sat on the bench for many hours. They had not spoken since James had uttered those inspiring words in Peter's ears. "_She still exists _he had said, caressing the parchment inside the small book _in every page of your imagination". _Although they had not talked it seemed the two could communicate with each other in another way. They knew how each other were feeling. It was terrible emotional pain that could not even be described by the written or spoken words. It was as if someone had reached into their souls and contorted them until they were nothing but an empty shell.

An empty shell.

Thoughts relentlessly plagued James' his mind as he held Peter close to his chest. He didn't care about the tears staining the material, he didn't care that they were probably late for dinner. When he thought about it, his sadness was truly insignificant. He was just one person in a world of so many. True, some people knew about his pain and empathised with him greatly, but in the scheme of things they were just another blade of grass blanketing the park they took residence in.

The sound of Sylvia's choking cough still rang in his ears, he could still feel her pale, clammy skin in everything he touched, her beautiful face still haunted his sleepless nights.

James sighed, if it hadn't been for the Davies he wouldn't have the play he had been so widely acclaimed for. The show had been credited as "_A timeless classic for centuries to come." _As pleased with this as he was he felt guilty about feeling the least bit happy with himself at the moment. He felt that he shouldn't be in high spirits, not when someone he held so close to his heart had just breathed their last sorry breath.

Peter shifted in his arms and James looked at the boy. The childs' eyes were bloodshot and scarlet from the tears that now fell down his pale cheeks. Peter looked up at him and James tried his best to smile reassuringly. But, it was no use, he could not smile; the best he could do was shut his eyes and wish the distressing sadness away.

Mr. Barrie placed an arm around Peter and shut his eyes. The boy nuzzled his head into James' neck. James moved Peters' head off his collar and stood up, he took the boys hand.

'Come on, let's go home' he said to him quietly. Peter obliged and stood up from the bench.

The two walked hand in hand out of the park. James really did not want to go back. In a few short months his life had changed so rapidly. He had parted ways with his wife and now found himself with an instant family to care for. James was happy with the new existence he was going to lead, though he wished with all his sorry heart that Sylvia would be able to share it with him.

Though, there was one upside. His stories, characters and imaginary worlds could live on in the hearts of the children he was soon to live with. He would make sure that he passed his tales onto them so that his spirit could live on long after he had joined Sylvia in the heavens above him.

_(A/N: Had to edit this a bit and change the Authors Note. Well, here we go, this is now the Prologue. Thanks for the reviews by the way.)_


	2. Old Memories and Endless Futures

CHAPTER ONE

_Old Memories and Endless Futures. _

James watched as the children sat silently at the table that morning. All that could be heard was the scraping of plates and cutlery with the occasional readjustment of a chair now and then. James sighed and rested his chin on his palm. He had been left with the children whilst Madame du Maurier was out on one of her 'socialite escapades' as James liked to call them. What appalled the playwright most was that her daughter had passed for just a week and already she was out and about, rather than spending time with the boys. True, people had differing ways of grieving, but that was just absurd.

In the week since Sylvia's death, James had since relocated his belongings from his home to where the boy's were. When he had first set foot into his former residence, James was flooded with memories of his life with Mary. Everywhere he turned he would see her face. The last months of their marriage had not been the happiest, but James still felt an overall feeling of loss as he collected his coats from the cupboard. Mary had now taken time with Gilbert Cannan at the summer home she and James had once shared. At that same summer abode, Sylvia had slipped into sickness one afternoon whilst Peter debuted his play.

James had now left his old life behind, a life he shared with one woman and no one else. Now his existence was far more important. Now he had the wellbeing of four young boys to see to. Now he had to face the reality of his life with his new family.

'May I please be excused?' a small voice asked from James' side. Michael had set his cutlery neatly on his plate and a small, but obviously forced smile sat on his lips.

'Yes, Michael, you may.' James replied quietly. James detested the way the boys asked to leave the table. He found it pointless. _Why could they not just leave on their own accord?_

Peter and Jack soon requested that they leave the table and James replied that they could indeed leave it and that there was no reason for them to take the table with them. The two boys missed the small pun, but George, who still occupied his seat, resisted the urge to smile.

James looked at George and took a small sip of his tea. He and George had not spoken overmuch in the past week, actually, James had not spent much time with any of the boys. The one child James found who took up most of his time, was Peter. The young boy had requested on many occasions that he spend the night with James in his room. James had complied with Peter's wishes, but the rumors still circulated about James' time with the boys, and obviously the fact that on some occasions Peter spent the night with him, did not help his cause.

Those hurtful and awful rumors. When Arthur had first mentioned to James the words that had been circulating around social circles for some time, James had given no credence to them, but deep down he knew that on some level they affected him. People could be so cruel, especially when you were at your happiest. Looking back on those times, James decided that the summer spent with the Davies was the happiest summer he had been part of in his life.

So now James sat, his hands clenched around his tea to keep them warm. George did the same, blowing the steam off the top of his drink for something to do. He had grown up over the past months and James knew that it was the end of the boy-George.

'If you wish to leave, I shall not stop you.' James said to George as he took another sip of his tea.

'I do not wish to leave.' George said quietly. His voice seemed so sincere, so truthful. Somehow it made James feel better to know that there was someone who was comfortable with his presence and did not wish to leave him on his own.

There was a moment's silence between the two. They just sat there, obviously deep in thought about the same thing. It was odd, James often did not like stark silences, but for some reason he felt at ease just sitting with George and not having to speak.

'What will happen to us, Uncle Jim?' George finally asked. It was obviously a question that had been plaguing his mind for some time after Sylvia's death.

'Well,' James began, un-wrapping his fingers from around his teacup. 'You boys shall go to school when the summer is over, and I will go back to my work. Emma –er, your Grandmother – will do whatever it is she does and we shall all live in this house.'

George seemed content with that answer. He was glad that his Mother had not just left him and his brothers alone with their Grandmother. It was so much more comforting to have James there with them.

'Uncle Jim, can I say something?' George asked, blowing the steam off his tea once more and looking back at James.

'Absolutely, say what you will.' James replied. He was soon going to sit down with these boys and tell them they did not have to ask permission to speak nor to leave the table. There was no need for such nonsense. They were children and children should _not_ be restricted.

'Well, I would just like to say,' George paused unnecessarily, 'that if I wanted anyone to take care of us, it would be you. Mother had made the right choice.'

James smiled. He could not have hoped for better words. Peter had told him this one night when he had not been able to sleep and James had gathered the boy in his arms and told him that he would not want anyone else looking after them either.

'And,' George continued. 'I want you to know that Mother told me to tell you that she hoped that one day you would join her in Neverland, but not until it is your time.'

'Your mother said that?' James asked. He smiled and sipped his tea. Sylvia had gone to Neverland. She was happy there amongst the magical world that James had created for her.

George simply nodded and smiled slightly, but the smile was tinged with pain and loss. James could see that these next few years would not be easy at all, he had endless work ahead of him, but he could not think of a better way to spend his life.

James looked at the clock on the wall. It was ten o'clock and by now he would normally be out with Porthos in the park, writing whatever crossed his mind. He did indeed feel the need to write, it was strange, and he felt he just needed to sort his mind out onto the paper before him. Perhaps he should take the boys out for the day.

'George,' James said, tilting his head at the boy. 'What do you say to you and I taking to boys to the park for the day?'

'Oh, Uncle Jim, I'm not sure. I mean Peter-.' But James cut the boy off.

'Come on, it will be fine. Go and get them, I believe they are in their room. Bring them back down, Porthos and I shall be waiting.' James replied, standing up and ushering the boy upstairs.

George stood from his chair and slowly walked up the stairs towards their room. He sighed before knocking lightly on the door. He was met by no sound so tried again. No answer. George shrugged. The room belonged to him as much as it did to the other three, so he twisted the doorknob and walked in uninvited.

'Have you ever heard of knocking?' Jack asked, scowling at his older brother. The boys had been less than civil towards eachother this past week. One could not blame them, stress had been high and each of them had their different ways of grieving.

'Have you ever heard of _listening_?' George retorted. 'I knocked twice. Now, listen, Uncle Jim wants us to go to the park with him.'

This comment was met with a collective groan from all in the room. Peter buried his head underneath his pillow, as did Michael and Jack just stared at his brother, an appalled look on his face. It was as if a walk in the park was the children's worst fear imaginable. It was as if they would rather die than walk between the trees.

'George, I really –.' Peter protested but was cut short as his brother held his finger up at him in a silencing gesture.

'Now, we are all going to go with Uncle Jim. He wants us to, so we will. This is just as hard for him as it is for us.' With that, George turned around and began to walk out, stopping at the door. 'It will be fine.'

Jack, Peter and Michael were somewhat shocked by the authoritative tone in their brother's voice. They all knew now that he had grown up, he was no longer the child he used to be.

George made his way back down the staircase and saw James with Porthos by his side. The dog was panting heavily and obviously excited about the prospect of going to the park. James looked up at George and smiled slightly, patting the Newfoundland absent-mindedly.

'They will be down in a moment.' George announced. Just as he finished speaking, three young boys stood on the staircase, each of them trying their best to look happy and willing to go to the park.

'Good.' James said, taking Porthos' leash and leading him out the door. 'I think it is about time we all got out of this house.'

It was true. The boys had hardly left the confines of their room for a week. They would occasionally sit out in the yard, but they would never play no matter how hard James had tried to coax them into his games. The way James saw, it was going to take a while for the boys to get used to their new lives, and he would just have to do his best to be patient. Perhaps this morning in the park would do them some good, after all it could not hurt.

They all walked out of the door and began their trek to the park. It was conveniently close, offering no excuses for not having the time to walk. In a matter of fifteen minutes, the party had arrived at the park. James smiled slightly as he saw the bright green lawns and tall trees. That park was where James had first met the Davies', with his magical bear, Porthos. That day was the beginning of something great, something great that would end in tragedy.

James unclipped Porthos from his leash and allowed the dog the freedom he had been pining for. The boys just stood there, watching the dog run up to a tree and begin sniffing its trunk. James knew they all wished to run free the way Porthos did, but he knew that each of them felt guilty out of even having the slightest amount of fun. James sighed, he knew that Sylvia would have wanted the boys to be happy, but it was hard to even get them to smile.

James sat down on a bench and pulled out his journal along with a pencil. He knew he should probably not be doing this, but there was no other way to clear his mind. It was up to the boys whether they just sat and watched him or whether they themselves attempted to make the most of the beautiful sunny day. Slowly, James began to write in his book.

_The boys are finding it difficult to adjust to the death of their mother _James wrote, glancing up and catching eyes with Jack for a brief moment, _as am I. They will not smile and hardly speak to me. I feel, somehow I have failed them. I know Sylvia would tell me that I haven't, but she is not here with me. I only wish she were. Everywhere I turn in that house I see her, I hear her among the rare words that the boys speak. Things were never supposed to be this way, they were always supposed to be perfect. We would spend merry afternoons in the park flying kites and going on grand escapades through the Amazon jungle. I knew this was all too good to be true, deep down I knew something tragic would have to happen to bring me back down to reality, but I never thought it would be this._

_I need another play, but have no idea where to look. My inspiration is gone and I am but a shell of my former self. I hope these feelings pass soon because otherwise I fear I may not be able to care for the boys as well as I could. They need their mother, but they cannot have her. Each time I glance at them I see the pain in their eyes as if they wish to die and be with Sylvia once more. Sometimes I find myself thinking the same. No matter how much I discourage these thoughts, they seem to become more apparent with each passing moment. _

Suddenly, James was distracted from his work as a strong wind blew past. The pages of his journal turned rapidly, causing him to lose his place. He sighed and thumbed through the pages trying to find his place when someone appeared before him. James looked up only to find a young woman before him.

'May I help you?' James asked, still trying to find his place in the book.

'Yes, actually, your dog has just taken off with something of mine.' The woman stated matter-of-factly. She crossed her arms over her chest and watched James.

'Oh, and how, may I ask, do you know it is my dog?' James asked, giving up on finding his page and closing the book with a snap.

'Because I have seen you here with it before. A Newfoundland I believe?' the woman sighed, obviously tiring with the banter between them. 'If it helps, my name is Odette.'

'James Barrie.' James replied, slightly tempted to say that knowing her name did not help. He looked at the boys who were avidly watching the exchange between the two. James sighed and stood up. 'And where has Porthos got to?'

Odette looked briefly at the boys before leading James away from them and toward a picnic blanket, obviously only for one person.

'I was here when the dog came up to me.' Odette stated, gesturing to her setting.

'The dog's _name_ is Porthos.' James hissed under his breath. He hated it when people addressed Porthos as the dog or 'it'. As far as James was concerned, _Porthos_ demanded as much respect as anyone else did.

'I'm sorry?' Odette asked, wishing to hear what James had muttered.

'Oh, nothing.' James replied hastily. He looked around the park, spotting Porthos lying down by a tree, something between his paws. James whistled for the Newfoundland and the dog quickly came bounding back to its owner.

'Is this what you were looking for?' James asked, wrenching what seemed to be a silk scarf from Porthos' grip. Unfortunately for the scarf, it was riddled with holes from Porthos' teeth.

'Oh, my!' Odette exclaimed, snatching the scarf from James' grasp. 'It's _ruined_!' Odette looked at James briefly. 'I do hope you intend to replace this.'

James knew that was coming. He sighed and absently petted Porthos' coat. 'Well, to be honest, no.' James replied, beginning to turn around.

'I'm sorry? What did you say?' Odette frowned, following James as he continued to walk.

James turned around and looked at her. 'I said, no. If you wish to know why, I shall tell you.' Odette motioned for him to tell her why. 'Well, if you _must_ know, I have just been left with four boys to care for and their Grandmother who is more of a burden than a help. Their mother has died but nine days ago and here you are demanding a replacement for a scarf. I am sorry, but unless you intend to replace the boy's mother, then the answer remains as a no.'

With that, James turned around and began to walk back to the boys, ready to walk them home. He had had enough of the park for one day. Thinking back, James knew he should have replaced her scarf, but the reality was he did not have the time or effort to go scarf shopping with a woman he did not know. He had over-reacted and he knew it, but it was done and he definitely had no intention of going back to face that presumptuous woman once more.

Once he had reached the boys, he clipped Porthos' leash back onto his collar and sighed. 'We are going home.' He said simply, motioning for the boys to follow him.

'Why?' Michael asked innocently, watching James walk.

'Because we are.' James replied. It was not up to discussion and he did not wish to speak at the moment. That woman had ruined his day. He had come to the park with a clear mind ready to write, and now he had to face a house with four depressed boys.

Finally, all five of them had reached the house. James let Porthos go and the boys slowly walked into the house, their heads hanging low.

Guilt. That was the feeling that washed over James so suddenly. He watched George lead the boys up to their room, only to sit there for many more hours in silence. He was selfish and he knew it. When the boys were out in the sunshine they had looked different, it seemed they actually might have been happy whether they showed it on the outside or not. He sighed and hung his coat upon to rack. He would talk to them, yes that was a good idea.

Slowly, James began his ascent up the staircase. He made his way to the door of the room the boys shared and opened it without invitation. The site that met his was one of deep solemnity. All four of the boys sat on the end of their respective beds, doing nothing, just sitting in silence as James had predicted. As James opened the door wider, Peter looked up from staring at the floor and offered a small encouraging smile to the Scotsman.

'Boys,' James began, closing the door behind him. 'I have a few things to say.'

This conversation was inevitable. James knew he would have to have it with them sooner or later, and James would prefer it sooner rather than later. He pulled up one of the boy's toy chests and sat on it, trying to make eye contact with each of them.

'I just want you all to know that I understand what you all feel. I loved your mother very much and only wish she were here with us this very moment. But the reality of the matter is that she is not. She has entrusted me with your care and I only hope to be able to offer you as much love as she gave you.' James paused, letting his words sink in. 'I hope that we can come to accept our new circumstances and I hope that you all will grow to love me as much as I do you.'

James watched the boy's reaction. Michael stood up and made his way towards James slowly. He smiled slightly and before he knew it, James had Michael in his arms. The young boy buried his face into James' neck. James smiled and stroked his hair and looked at the other boys who slowly left their beds and also came over to him, wrapping their arms around him best they could.

It was silent, but each person in the room knew what the other was thinking. James smiled as the boys embraced him. This was how it was supposed to be. This was how he had wanted it.

_(A/N: Well, there we go. I know this has taken a long time, but I just re-read my reviews and found them to be quite agreeable. So, here I am, the first chapter of "Just Believe" formerly "The Park Bench" thanks for reading and make sure you review.) _


	3. The End of An Endless Summer

CHAPTER TWO 

_The End of an Endless Summer. _

'Up, up, up, up, _up_!' James called as he strode along the hall in front of the boy's room. He tapped his cane sharply on the wall, and, once meeting the door of the room, hit it doubly hard and was slightly scared he may have split the wood.

His calling was met by no sound at all. Instead, all he heard were a few whispers and fragmented sentences from inside the room.

'Boys!' James called once more. 'Up! You _need _to go to school!'

Those words hit James like a cricket ball in the shins. They were leaving him in the house with Emma duMaurier. He would have no excuse for having writer's block. Before he could lay blame to the boys taking up most of his mind and energy, but now that they were at school all he could do was sit and wait for inspiration. The summer was over and now Charles Frohman would definitely be looking for another play, but the reality was that he did not have another play for him. Perhaps he should just go back to playing cricket with Arthur, then again from what he had heard their team had not been performing overly well in this season.

Finally one of the boys opened the door and James smiled at him. 'We don't want to get ready, Uncle Jim.' It was Jack. His hair was messed from sleeping and his pyjamas were crumpled.

'Well, sorry to give you this news, but the reality is that you need to go to school.' James replied coolly, tapping his cane on his right foot.

Jack sighed and turned around to the other boys, obviously telling them that they did indeed have to learn today. His words were met by a collective groan from all in the room. James ignored it and walked down the stairs, tapping his cane on the banister.

'I expect you all down in five minutes!' He called up at them once his foot met the carpet as he stepped off the last step of the staircase.

James whistled and Porthos came galloping toward him, his gait clumsy and somewhat roguish. The dog fixed him with a stare that told James how badly he wished to go for a walk.

'Not today, my friend.' James apologetically stroked the Newfoundland's head. 'I need to get the boys off to school.'

Porthos whined, but James ignored it. He knew the canine would get over it in a matter of minutes and he would be back bounding through the house as he had done only moments ago. Suddenly, as if to wreck a reasonably good morning, a familiar voice appeared in his ears.

'What do you think your doing?' Emma duMaurier asked, appearing next to James with an accusatory glance.

'Standing.' James replied blandly. He tapped his cane on his foot once more, it was a habit of his now - something he did when he was either bored, irate just extremely impatient. At this moment, impatience was the feeling that washed over him.

'I _mean_, what are you doing letting that dog inside? I told you to keep it in the yard!' Emma fixed another glance at James, obviously with the object of intimidating him, but sadly it did not work.

Once again, that word - dog. The woman he had met in the park only a week ago had used the same word. James could not recall her name and wondered if she would mind if he just called her 'woman.' If Porthos could speak for himself James imagined he would be nowhere near hesitant to give that woman a piece of his mind.

Emma gave up on James and walked away and out the door, presumably off to gossip about him to her friends. James was surprised that she actually had friends considering her snobbish disposition.

'Boys! Down here! Now!' But just as James called for the boys, he found they were already behind him, dressed and ready for their first day of school.

'Ah, there you are. Good.' James told Porthos to stay and grasped his hat off the rack and put it on, leading the boys out the door and into the cool air.

'Uncle Jim, why do we have to go to school?' Michael asked timidly from beside James.

The Scotsman stopped and bent down placing his hands on his knees. 'The summer is over…I can't well leave you at home alone, besides, I have things to oversee.'

That was a lie and James knew it. He had nothing to oversee and nothing to do. He was thankful that Michael did not inquire further and the group continued to walk to the school.

Finally they turned a corner and the school was in sight. It was an old redbrick building with wrought iron gates out the front. James was not surprised that the boys did not wish to go to school, the building looked dark and foreboding. Out the front of the school, boys played chasings and various other games on the green grass. It looked happy enough, but the happiness seemed to irritate James somewhat. As far as James could tell it was an all-boy's school. James had never quite agreed to segregated education, but it was Sylvia's choice as to where the boys attended and that was the way it would stay.

James bent down on his haunches and surveyed the boys one last time. 'I want you all to try and enjoy yourselves today. If you really desperately wish to come home and you have a good reason, tell one of the sisters and they will contact me…' James saw a slight smile creep upon Michael's lips. James turned to the young boy and laughed. 'But _only_ if you have a good reason.'

James stood back up. 'Now, go on. George,' James said, directing his words to the eldest boy. 'Walk them home, I will not be able to. I have some things to take care of.'

As much as this surprised James, he did indeed find something to do with himself. He needed to negotiate the ownership of his old home with Mary. Since neither of them lived there any more, it was pointless to keep it. James recalled making a meeting with her at The Equinox, a small café just five minutes away. The Playwright turned away from the school and began to walk to the café. For some reason he was nervous about his meeting with Mary.

Finally he arrived at the café. It was a small building and the smell of good coffee and pastries spilled out into the streets. The scent was welcoming and an all too familiar memory drifted back into his mind.

'_Oh sorry!' James exclaimed as he bumped into someone as he exited the café. In his hands he had been carrying a small brown paper back containing a Danish pastry, but now the bag was on the snowy street, the pastry tumbling out of it. _

'_No, it's fine. It was no fault of yours.' A young woman replied, her curly blonde hair placed in a tight bun atop her head, allowing for a few stray strands to frame her face, _

_James found her the picture of beauty. Her complexion glowed as the snow drifted down around them. Christmas was but five days away and the streets were full of people buying last minute gifts. Despite the sounds of the passers-by, James was not distracted. Instead, he kept his eyes on the woman before him. _

_The young woman laughed slightly as she saw James studying her. 'What is your name, anyway?' she asked, tilting her head to one side. _

'_J.M Barrie.' James replied, pulling his coat around him for extra warmth. 'And yours?' _

'_Mary Ansell.' The young woman replied. She looked down at the ground and noticed the remnants of the Scotsman's purchase. 'Oh, my! Let me replace that.' _

'_No, really, there is no need.' James replied, bending now to pick up the paper bag and placing the now snow-sodden pastry back in. _

'_No, I insist.' Mary replied. Taking James's arm she led him into the warmth of the café, _

That was the day he first met Mary. He had thought everything to be perfect. They had shared Christmas together since neither of them had family nearby. His life had taken a turn for the better that day, but of course, he could not foresee the future.

Pulling James out of his reverie, a familiar voice found its way to his ears.

'James.' Mary said, appearing at his side. 'What are you doing outside? You did not have to wait for me out here.'

James did not reply. Mary's tone was polite and direct. Of course, she did not seem unkind, but James could tell that any feelings she had previously had for him were now long gone and only reserved for Gilbert Cannan.

The pair made their way into the café and James pulled out a seat for Mary and allowed for her to sit down, before he himself took a seat across from her.

'So, how have you been?' Mary asked politely, adjusting her chair nervously. James could tell that she was just as apprehensive as he was about this meeting. They had not seen eachother since opening night of Peter Pan.

'I-.' But before James could speak, a waitress approached their table asking what they would like to order.

'Nothing, thanks.' James looked at Mary. 'Would you like anything?'

'I'm fine.' Mary said to the waitress and she nodded and went on her way. Mary once again looked at James with a supportive smile. 'You were saying?'

'Oh, aye.' James replied. He had begun to drift off into a daydream. 'I'm fine. The boys are fine; I left them at school about five minutes ago. How are you?'

'I'm good.' James could hear the indifference in her voice. He knew she was happier than she had been in a while, but of course she would not say that to him out of common decency.

'And Gilbert?' James inquired.

'James, I did not come here to discuss anything but our house.' Mary replied defensively. Her affair with Gilbert had been the chosen topic of conversation in many social circles for quite a while now and James could tell she did not wish to answer the same question she had been asked many times over.

James muttered an apology and looked at her hands. He noticed that she was no longer wearing a wedding ring. James snuck a glance at his own hand and noticed that the golden band still resided on his finger. He had been too preoccupied with the boys to even think about removing it. Quickly, he placed his right hand under the table to hide the ring from Mary's view. He was not even sure if he could get it off - it seemed firmly fastened.

Mary either did not notice James' movement, or did not care to comment. James decided that the latter option was the more logical. Silence spanned between the two like a bridge neither of them were willing to cross.

'So, the house.' James said. He was talking more to himself than to Mary. He placed his other hand under the table and slowly twisted his wedding ring off. Placing the gold band in his pocket, he looked back up at Mary.

'Yes, the house.' Mary placed her hand palm down on the tabletop and looked at James. 'What are we going to do with it?'

'Do you still want it?' James asked.

'No, why would I want it?'

'I don't know, I just thought you might…' he trailed off.

'Might what?'

James bit his tongue. Mary had obviously noticed that James wanted to say something.

'What, James?'

'I thought you might want to live there with Gilbert.' James said extremely quickly. He could tell that it took a few moments for Mary to process his words and slow them down in her mind.

'I can't _believe_ you, James!' Mary stood up. 'I come here to talk to you about the house and you bring up something I told you not to talk about only moments earlier. What is _wrong_ with you!'

'Mary, I didn't mean to-.' James tried to say something, but was once again cut short.

'You might want this back as well.' She said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a golden wedding ring. 'I wish I could give it back to you in more pleasant circumstances, but that is your own fault.' With that, she threw the ring at him, hitting him in the chest. The band fell onto the floor with a metallic clink.

Before he knew it, Mary was out of the café and almost all of the patrons were staring at him. He was lucky most of them did not know who he was, James prided himself on having a name and not a face. If people did know that the Playwright, J.M Barrie, had just been verbally assailed by his ex-wife he would never hear the end of it and it would just make his life even more difficult.

James bent down from his seat and picked up the ring, pocketing it. He had no use for it whatsoever. What in the world was he to do with a wedding ring that no longer held its sacred vows?

Slowly, the Playwright exited the café. He could feel everyone staring at him, but he did not care any more.

James walked back to the house. He passed the boy's school and noticed that it was presumably lunchtime as most of the boys were outside playing games. James decided to stop and watch them for a while. It may give him inspiration. James layed his eyes on a boy sitting by a tree. He seemed alone, his red hair standing out amongst the rest of the boys in the schoolyard. James remembered his childhood. He had hated school.

'_What do you think you're doing?' A stocky boy approached the young James and knocked the leather-bound journal out of his hands. _

'_Writing.' James replied, scrambling to get his book back. _

'_About what?' the boy placed his foot on James' book and James winced, if he pressed any harder he would crack the book's spine. _

'_Anything. Everything.' James said, once again vainly trying to get his book back. _

'_Read some to me.' The boy ordered, taking his foot off the book and throwing it at James, causing the pages to crumple. James heard what he thought were ripping noises coming from inside the book. _

'_No. This is private.' James said, hugging the book to his chest. He would never read anyone his journals. They were his thoughts and his only. _

'_Fine.' The stocky boy went off in a huff to join his myriad of equally irritating and chubby friends. _

_James went back to writing in his journal. He wished he could have the day away from school. His brother David had been off school for two weeks with pneumonia. The doctor said it was serious, but would not tell James any more. All he knew was that his mother cried herself to sleep every night out of fear for her dear son. Of course, his mother's favourite had always been David. He was smart at Arithmetic and the Sciences whereas James tended to drift off into his own dream worlds, something his mother detested. _

James awoke from his reverie. So many memories had been flooding back to him today. Perhaps it was the warm summer air, perhaps it was because his mind did not have the boys to occupy itself with so it contented itself with giving James flashes of his past. Whatever it was, James found the memories strange and confusing.

James heard the school bell ring and saw the students make their way back to their classrooms. He smiled slightly. None of the boys had wished to come home yet, which was always a good sign. James turned away from the school and made his way back towards the house. He knew Emma would not be there, which was somewhat of a comfort.

As he walked, James swung his cane back and forth infront and behind him.

Suddenly he heard his cane hit something, followed by a high-pitched squeal. James sighed and looked at what he had hit. It was most-likely a stray cat walking in his way.  
Where the stray cat should have been, stood a woman he recognised. The woman whom Porthos had stolen the silk scarf last week. From what James could tell she had no shortage of silk scarves, as she had one tied around her neck at this very moment.

'So sorry.' James said and diverted his eyes from the woman. He did not wish to be accused by two women in one day.

'It's you.' The woman exclaimed. James suddenly remembered her name. Odette.

'Aye 'tis me.' James said tiredly. He just wanted to get home and perhaps eat something or even write something in his journal. Today had been an intriguing day and he wanted to get his thoughts down on paper.

'I am still waiting for my scarf.' Odette placed her hands on her hips and stared at James fixedly.

'And I am still waiting for a mother for the boys, but it isn't going to happen.' James retorted curtly and went on his way, not allowing for her to say anything else to him.

Why was this day so strange? First Mary throwing a piece of gold at him and now this woman wanting to take him scarf shopping. James kept on walking until he reached the house. He inserted the key in the door and opened it. He was glad to see Porthos come running towards him. Finally someone who appreciated his existence.

_(A/N: There we go. What do you think of Mary's behaviour? I hope I didn't make her too mean to James…well, tell me what you think. Please review.) _


	4. You Are Not My Father

CHAPTER THREE. 

_"You Are Not My Father". _

The week passed with nothing overly exciting occurring. James spent his days in the park writing meaningless notes in his journal. The trees in the park had slowly succumbed to the autumn season as their leaves turned from a lush green to bright oranges and reds, until they finally drifted to the ground. The weather had begun to cool down, so now a cool soft breeze blew, rustling the green grass in the park and disturbing the pages in James' journal.

James placed his finger firmly on the corner of the page and held it down as another gust of wind blew past. James much preferred the previous season to this one. The wind seemed to do things to his mind and somehow prevent him from thinking straight. Giving up on the wind, James made his way back inside. Porthos was asleep on the floor, snoring lightly. A small smile crept upon James' face at the sight of the sleeping bear.

He nimbly stepped over Porthos, hoping that the dozing canine would not wake up between his legs. Relieved as he made his way over the great bridge that was Porthos, James made his way into the kitchen. He was thirsty, the wind tended to do that to him. James bent down and opened the cupboard, clasping his hands around a glass. He resurfaced and poured himself a glass of tap water. He cringed at the taste – the tap water was not as fresh and clear as the liquid that resided back home in Scotland.

A sudden thought crossed his mind as he swallowed the last of the water he was so disappointed with. _Where was Emma?_ He had not seen her all morning. It was odd for her to not come and insult him about the way he dressed or the fact that he spent hours writing. She would usually comment that writing in ones journal would not help the boys in the slightest. Of course, James ignored all of these comments and went about his daily business as if she did not exist.

James stared out the window above the sink and watched as a single orange leaf fell from the once green and lush oak tree outside. He smiled and remembered that once upon a time the boys would have climbed that tree, laughing and playing pirate games with wooden swords and scabbards. Now they were much more mature. James had once said to Sylvia that boys should never be put to bed because they always wake up a day older and now it seemed that they had been put to bed a few too many times.

As that leaf fell to the ground, James sighed. He had written all he was worth today and now found that he was left with hardly anything to keep him occupied. The boys were off at school - thankfully it was Friday. Perhaps he would pay a visit to Charles if the producer was not too busy organizing more show times for Peter Pan. Yes, that's what he would do. Visiting Charles was a good idea.

James placed the glass in the sink and walked out of the kitchen, picking his coat off the rack he shrugged into it and stepped over Porthos who was still comfortably asleep on the floor.

The playwright made his way out of the door and noticed that the postman had stopped his bicycle outside the gate. There was only one explanation for this occurrence – he had mail to deliver.

'Good morning.' James called as he approached the man. He was about to place the letters in the box when he noticed James and smiled with a small wave.

'Good morning, Mr. Barrie.' James remembered his name and smiled at him, relieving him of the various packages he held for he and Mrs. du Maurier.

'How are you today, Bill?' James inquired, flicking over the various return addresses of the envelopes. He noticed a few that he recognized and some that he did not.

'Good thank you, Mr. Barrie.' Bill replied with a kind and vibrant smile. 'Well, I'd best be off, more mail to deliver.'

James waved a goodbye to him and continued to look at the return addresses. There were a few letters for Emma, undoubtedly for social events that she would be invited to, there was one from James' mother, another from Mary's solicitor finalizing their divorce, but there was one he had no idea who it was from. There was no address in the top corner, not even a name to tell whom the sender was.

James placed the mail back in the letterbox to collect when he got back from Charles' office, but he kept out the unnamed envelope to read as he walked. James shut the gate behind him and opened the envelope, still walking with his head down. He took the paper out of the envelope and read it.

_Dear Mr. Barrie and Mrs. du Maurier,_

_As headmistress of Saint Ignatius School for Boys, it is my duty to inform you that your child _James' -eyes lingered strangely on the words 'your child'-. _Peter Llewellyn-Davies, has been behaving disagreeably towards the staff and his fellow students._

_We are concerned about Peter's lack of attendance at our school and were wondering where he has been all this time. He has not attended class for the past three days and the times prior to that when he did attend school he did not listen nor participate in any of the lessons given. _

_Saint Ignatius prides itself on having an unsurpassed understanding and rapport with its students and nurtures any positive relationships within the school. We endeavor to create a safe and secure learning environment for all our boys. As our school motto says: "Spectemur Agendo" – Judge me by what I do. _

_Sincerely, _

_Odette Drysdale._

James had been so wrapped up in his letter that he forgot where he was walking. It was lucky that he had not crossed the road and been hit by a passing car or horse and carriage. As luck would have it, he had continued to walk along the same footpath, but unfortunately in the wrong direction in which he desired to go.

James folded the letter back the way it had been packed and thought deeply about it. The name signed at the bottom was familiar. Odette was the woman who he had been two too many times wanting him to buy her a replacement scarf. Of course, it could be another woman, there had to be more than one Odette in London.

However, the name signed on the letter did not explain the nature of the accusation. It had been written that Peter had not been attending school. As far as James knew, Peter left school with the other boys and returned with them, and sometimes with Porthos as well. This puzzled James because he would never think of Peter to be the type of boy to disobey his wishes of him attending school.

James turned around and began his way in the direction of the theatre. He put the contents of the letter out of his mind; he would talk to Peter about it later when he got home from school or wherever he was going during the day.

The walk to the theatre was not a short one, but by no means was it a complete trek. Besides, James enjoyed the air and the chance to stretch his legs. He had not seen Charles in quite a while since the operations of Peter Pan had been taken largely out of his hands and placed into those of Mr. Frohman. James had never been good at managing his affairs let alone the affairs of a blockbuster play. Those types of things were best left to Charles and if the manager needed him then James knew that he would not hesitate to make contact.

James turned the corner and smiled at a few children as they walked past him with one of their teachers. They were obviously going on a school outing of some sort. When James was at school they hardly went out of the grounds, but nowadays it seemed that children were taken on excursions almost once a week. James knew this was an exaggeration, but it seemed that whenever one of the boys came home they had a fabulous story to tell him about where they went today.

Finally the theatre was in sight. James smiled slightly as he saw it. It truly was a spectacle to be seen by all who walked past it. James smiled even more as he saw a poster of Peter Pan hung on the brick wall. It proudly said 'SOLD OUT' in large red letters. James was sure that the only reason that Charles had kept the poster up there was to let everyone know of the fact that the play was so good that it was sold out and therefore hint at his own success.

Since the release and subsequent success of Peter Pan, James' life had not changed too dramatically. Of course, that event had coincided with Sylvia's death, an event that _had_ changed his life forever. James tried to think back to what life was like before he had even met Sylvia and the boys and he could not even remember. It was as if he did not even _have_ a life before then. Of course, that was an absurd notion, but for some reason the playwright found it difficult to remember how he spent his days as opposed to running in the park after kites with his newfound friends.

James liked to believe that success didn't change a person, but he knew now that that was not true. He had heard stories of successful authors and the like who had said that they remained the same despite the brilliant selling of their books. James had believed them, struggling to think how a bit of money could change someone, but now he knew that all those times he had met best-selling authors that what they said had been beyond fake.

James was yet to see the profits of Peter Pan, but Charles assured him that they were there and if it weren't for the absurd amount of red tape and forms to sign, James would have his cash in hand right now. Despite Charles' constant goings on about the money that Peter Pan had generated, James found himself not caring in the slightest about the profits he would get. He only cared that people enjoyed and appreciated the play he had written for them. When he had heard the crowd applauding on opening night he had been filled with an overwhelming feeling of happiness. He had gazed out onto the crowd from behind the stage and had seen Peter sitting with his eyes fixed to the stage and the story playing out in front of him, but what had touched James the most was when Peter said '_I'm not Peter Pan, he is_.' James had just smiled at the boy, knowing from then on that everything would be all right.

Finally, James found Charles' office. He had not been there in quite a while and noticed that now posters of Peter Pan and pictures of him and James adorned the walls. The Scotsman smiled slightly and knocked on the door.

Charles looked up at him, taking his pipe out of his mouth and waving James into his office. He had been hunched over a piece of paper, obviously sent from someone wanting to know when Peter Pan would be available in his or her part of town.

'Hello, Charles.' James said, walking into the office and smiling at the producer. Charles seemed content beyond belief with his pipe in one hand and a pen in the other.

'James!' Charles almost yelled standing up and grasping the playwright by his hand in a sprightly handshake. 'I have brilliant news!'

James laughed as Charles ushered him into a seat and sat down himself. Frohman just stared at James with bright eyes. James laughed on the inside – the look of Charles at this moment matched Porthos' face at the prospect of going for a walk.

'Well…out with it.' James said impatiently. 'What's the good news?'

Charles beamed and kept staring at James stupidly. He had the widest smile that James had ever seen.

'What's the news?' James asked again edging his friend on.

'You know America?'

'Of _course_ I know America.'

'Good.'

'_And_…anything else you want to tell me, Charles, or is it just '_you know America?'_'

'They want Peter Pan to go there.'

'What?'

'You heard me.'

James was shocked. He had never intended for one of his plays to go internationally. Sure, he had entertained the prospect in his mind a few times, but he never actually thought of it as being possible. He couldn't help but smile just as Charles had moments earlier.

'Charles, I'm speechless.' James said still shocked that _America_ would want his play. Then again, it was probably just going to be played in small independent theatres scattered across the country.

'Not just America, James.' Charles continued. '_Broadway_.'

'Broadway?'

'Yes, _Broadway_.'

'When do they want it?' James asked now extremely interested at the prospect of having his play go to Broadway of all places.

'December.' Charles replied, a wide smile still on his face. He was obviously proud that he had actually managed to secure a contract in America let alone get an actual date.

'Well…it's September now so that's…' James counted on his fingers. 'Three months. _Three months_. Charles, how are we going to get it together it _three_ months…it's impossible.'

'James,' Charles said, looking over at him from his glasses. 'You said it yourself, _nothing's impossible_.'

It was true. James had repeated on many occasions to Charles as he was having doubts about Peter Pan that nothing was impossible. As usual, Charles' quick wit had beaten James once more.

'Of course, we can't have our actors go over there because we have shows booked all over Britain until March next year. So, I was talking to one of my associates in New York and he mentioned to idea of having some of their actors come over here and audition for some of the parts.' Charles said all of this very quickly and it took James and few moments to actually process what he had said.

'Hmmm..' James thought for a moment. 'Sounds like a plan.'

The two men continued to talk for some time about their venture to America and wondered how the audience would receive it. James was worried that they may not like it, but he decided that it was worth a try anyway.

* * *

James left Charles' office at about two o'clock in the afternoon. They had been so immersed in their conversation that James had forgotten that he had to be home for when the boys arrived back from school. The playwright opened the mailbox, taking any mail out of it and slid through the gate, making his way to the door.

He slid the key into the lock and smiled as he heard Porthos barking from behind the wooden door. As soon as he swung the door open the large Newfoundland bounded up to his owner, bowling James over and causing him to fall flat on his back.

'Easy, boy!' James managed as the large dog flattened him against the floor.

'Uncle Jim, what are you doing?' a small voice said from behind them. James managed to sit up and saw Michael standing at the door, accompanied by Peter, Jack and George.

The Scotsman stood up, brushing dog fur off his pants. He smiled at the boys and patted Porthos on the rear, sending him bounding down the hall. James ushered the boys inside and asked them about their days. He was met by mixed comments ranging from "Good" to "Okay."

James shut the door behind them and watched as Michael, Jack and George all went out into the yard to play. James was glad they were back to their old selves. Peter, on the other hand, was not. The playwright heard Peter in the kitchen, presumably getting something to eat or drink. James left him for a few moments and then slowly walked in after him.

As James had predicted, Peter had managed to find something out of the pantry to eat. By the looks of it, it seemed to be a biscuit of some sort. James just watched Peter for a moment. He was not sure if Peter knew he was there, but he would soon find out.

'What?' Peter asked, turning to James and placing his biscuit down on a plate next to him. 'What are you staring at?'

'Nothing.' James replied, still looking at Peter with unwavering attention. 'I received a letter from your headmistress today.'

Peter did not say anything and instead went back to his biscuit. Silence passed between the two for a few moments before James cleared his throat and took the aforementioned letter out of his pocket, he handed it to Peter who seemed reluctant to take it.

'Would you like to tell me what it is about?' James asked, leaning against the bench of the kitchen, his arms crossed over his chest.

Peter read the letter aloud to James, pausing at certain parts to obviously let it sink in to his own brain. As he finished it he looked up at James, no emotion in his face. For once his features were completely unreadable. James was unnerved by this and resisted the temptation to look away.

'Well?' James asked. He tried to remain kind, though his voice did have a hit of reproach in it. He tried to stop it, but just couldn't.

'I don't know about any of this.' Peter replied, stone faced and monotone.

'I think you do, Peter.' James said, still looking at boy despite his wanting to just leave him alone. James had the thought of leaving Peter to his own devices. He would learn soon enough that skipping school was not acceptable, then again, maybe he wouldn't. 'I must let you know, that this is very serious.'

'You are _not_ my father!' Peter yelled, accentuating the word "not". The boy dropped the letter on the ground and ran up to stairs to his room. Porthos wined at the loud noise, but placed his head back down to go to sleep.

James stared after Peter. He was not going to go up there and talk to him. He would let the boy sort his own emotions out for himself. However, that comment had hurt James more than ever. Just when he thought that the boys were accepting him as their guardian, something had to go wrong. James knew that it was not a good idea for him to care for the boys, no matter how much he loved them. He sighed and looked out the window. The sun was slowly turning orange and getting ready to set in about an hour. For some reason James wished that he could go to Mary and talk to her about this. He cursed himself for thinking such things. They were already halfway through a divorce – it was pointless to let himself see her again, besides, judging by how she had acted on their last meeting, James doubted that she would want to see him again.

The playwright suddenly noticed something on the dining table. It looked like a piece of paper and on it was written a small note. James read it aloud under his breath.

_Dear Mr. Barrie, _

I have decided to go on a trip to France for two weeks. I shall be back soon and expect you to look after the boys as if I was still there. I was tempted to hire a maid for the two weeks, but decided against it. It is best for you to learn how things operate around the home yourself.  
I hope the boys are well,

Regards,  
Emma du Maurier.

(A/N: Well, there we go. All done for another chapter. Sorry if it was a bit boring. I did, however, enjoy writing Charles in this for some reason. He's such a fun character. Well, leave me some of those lovely, lovely reviews. - Em. xxx)


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